Quiet Your Mind
by Hypnos897
Summary: The Enterprise is sent to the neutral to investigate a spatial anomaly. Cadet Wesley Crusher is visiting from Starfleet academy, assisting Senior Cadet Leanna Smith on her dissertation. They strike up a relationship that nearly turns deadly. All the while, the Enterprise is attacked by an unknown enemy from the Delta Quadrant.
1. Chapter 1

The shuttlecraft hurtles through space at a frightening speed. Its energy signature is a point of violence and acceleration that threads through the dark void like the edge of a fine scalpel slicing through black silk. And yet all you hear is silence. You don't hear a footnote in the distance. The stars make no sound. You can't even listen to your heartbeat as you watch time and space fold around the shuttlecraft. Inside you see cadet Wesley Crusher passively monitoring the controls on this routine passage to the neutral zone. Beside him sits senior cadet Leanna Smith, who sets down a reading pad and eyes Wesley. She admires his lean physique and straight posture. Senior cadet Anna's eyes are darkly rimmed and shine like polished obsidian. She traces a perfectly manicured finger along her full lips, curling her fist under her chin as if in thought. Wesley looks over and blushes at Anna's attention. "What," he asks with a light touch. His voice barely audible over the reassuring hum of the warp engines.

Anna shrugs, "You seem bored."

"We're in good shape," he taps at the computer, "only a couple hours away." She nods. "Is this your first interstellar flight?"

"I was raised on Ganymede station before, you know," she taps her standard-issue gold Starfleet communicator badge.

You see a boyish smile uncurl from Wesley's lips. "I've never been."

"Nor should you ever. I've heard you're the best pilot at Starfleet Academy. Is this like a routine deal for you?" Her legs are crossed.

Wesley's eyes glance Anna's thighs. "I," he blinks, "wouldn't say that."

"That whole Nova Squadron thing was a shame. You know a lot of people talk about you. It's not all good, but, yeah, they say you're the best, so this all must be, you know, easy for you."

Wesley blinks hard as a prickly feeling travels over his scalp. He stammers, "I mean, you just put in or input the flight plan and the computer kinda takes care of the rest."

Anna straightens in her chair. "Easy-peasy." She arches her back and yawns. Wesley notices her breasts stretch out her uniform.

You describe Anna's hair as full, wild, and dark. She is a Grecian statue come to life. Her skin is olive-coloured and flawless. Wesley turns back to the controls. You see a thought run across his brow. "So, why me? I mean, aside from my clearly superior piloting skills."

Anna slumps back in the chair. She chuckles, "Also your paper on the statistical analysis of gravitational fluctuations around Blackholes was brilliant."

He nods, "I did get an A."

Anna winks, "See, the best."

"Thank you." Wesley taps at the computer for a quick status update. The controls are brightly colored and illuminated. You cannot comprehend the complexity of the control panel.

"You're welcome for the ego boost." Anna picks up her reading pad and scrolls through it.

"No, thank you for bringing me along. I'm truly grateful. I think your senior thesis is important and I appreciate the opportunity to visit the Enterprise." Wesley rubs his eyes. Anna notices the bags. She frowns. "It's been a long time."

You watch the shuttle as light from passing stars stretch around the haul in neat, illuminated stripes. Despite the fantastic velocity, the shuttlecraft speeds on through the extremes that pollute the vacuum: electromagnetic fields, deadly radiation, gravitational wells, and temperature shifts. It is like a polished diamond sitting at the center of a flickering candle flame.

Anna props her feet onto the edge of the computer console. She places her reading pad on bent legs. "If you tell me what to watch for, I can take over a bit."

You notice Wesley hesitate as he scans the controls. "Uh, I'm fine."

"Honestly, it's no biggie."

"It's fine." Wesley yawns.

Anna points. "Don't make me pull rank, Cadet Crusher."

"We don't have much longer." He rubs his eyes again. "I have a hypothesis about the anomaly-"

"What's troubling you?" Her eyes are earnest.

You see Wesley freeze. "I," he licks his lips. "I don't know. Just haven't been sleeping well." He meets her gaze, and smiles. "It's stupid, but…" He inhales and continues, "I've been having this nightmare: I'm sitting next to my father in the woods. We're camping and it's night time. I'm poking at the campfire with a stick. I'm younger, or, yeah, I'm like a kid. I look at him. He's dressed in his Starfleet uniform. Tears are streaming down his face and he's mouthing words. He's trying to talk, but all I can hear is the crackling of the fire." Wesley sighs. "It's stupid."

Anna's eyes are damp. "Your father is dead."

"How did you-" Wesley curls his hands into fists. They turn white as he squeezes out the blood. He looks at Anna's doe eyes. "I can't believe I just told you that."

Anna shuts her eyes, delicately dabbing the tears away on her sleeve. "All this technology and no Goddamned tissues." Wesley chuckles. "Thank you for sharing."

Wesley nods. "So why shouldn't I visit Ganymede?"

Anna's eyes glaze over. You watch her tense. "Oh, Ganymede is the worst place in the universe. That's all."

"Don't you have family there?"

"No."

"I thought you said-"

"I'm alone." Slowly, Anna lowers her feet to the floor. She turns to face Wesley. "I was raised by the Sisters of Mercy. And you know what they taught me, Wesley?" You can hear the tenor of her voice drop. Wesley looks over to Anna expecting tears, but there are none. She is a blank slate. "Pain is the heart of love."


	2. Chapter 2

You are startled as the USS Enterprise D blinks into existence from the darkness. The immediate arrival of this Galaxy class starship, bristling with blinking lights and defined by a leading saucer section, is an awe inspiring marvel; the pinnacle of human ingenuity. If it had breached Earth's atmosphere from warp, the concussive force would have obliterated several city blocks. Here there is no disturbance. It is here. It was not, but now it is.

Now you meet the captain of Starfleet's flagship discovery vessel. His name is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He sits posture-perfect, but relaxed behind an expansive desk that is pristine and cool to the touch. He is about to begin his day. It dawns on Captain Picard that he is settled prior to an important ritual. He rises from his desk walks over to the food replicator and says, with the authority of rear admiral ordering a missile strike, "Tea, earl grey, hot." Like magic, electrons swirl in a sophisticated dance, silently forming a mug of black tea in the seat of the replicator.

Satisfied, Picard returns to his desk. The tea is certainly hot. He can feel the tingle of water vapor travel across his immaculately shaved head. He blows on the tea to cool down the first sip. Clearing his throat, Picard spins a desk-mounted screen in place and begins his daily captain's log in his crisp British accent.

"Captain's log, stardate 2370.55. The Enterprise is on its way to the Neutral Zone to investigate a rare twin nebula that was discovered by a Vulcan survey team from an Earth outpost in sector Z-6. Measurements from the Vulcans indicate unusual fluctuations in particulate mass distribution. Starfleet has negotiated safe passage with the Romulan Empire in exchange for a mission report. We welcome aboard a scion from mission's past. Mr. Wesley Crusher joins us from Starfleet Academy. He will be assisting Ms. Leanna Smith on a data mining project."

Pleased with the record, Captain Picard taps on the screen to close the log. There is still time for peace and quiet. Picard sips at his tea. He smiles, "Computer: Beethoven Symphony number seven in A Major." The music starts soft. Its crescendo fills the room, and Jean-Luc Picard closes his eyes. You hear the bows moving dramatically over the strings as the ensemble sways into motion.

"Riker to Captain Picard." The communication chirps, pausing Beethoven. Commander Riker's tone, as always, is short and professional. Over the years Picard has worked hard to discern the seriousness or lack of based on his tone. Despite thousands of messages and hails, Picard's guess was just that: it could be a Romulan attack or scheduling a reminder.

Picard taps the gold communicator pinned to his left breast, "Go ahead, Number One." His gaze floats to the middle distance as he awaits the response.

Riker responds in his typical staccato tone, "We've rendezvoused with the Vulcan research team at outpost six. Permission to beam the team lead aboard?"

Picard stands and says, "Permission granted."

You are in a two-tiered oval shaped room on the Enterprise. A large viewing screen is the focal point. Opposite the screen, on the second level, is a bank of computer stations. The captain's seat is the center of the room flanked by his first officer and a senior staff member. Directly in front of the viewing screen sit helm and navigation. Lieutenant Commander Worf, an imposing Klingon, stands ramrod straight at tactical, just behind the captain's seat at the crest of the second tier. You are on the bridge.

Tevic, the Vulcan team leader, strides from the turbo lift to greet Captain Picard and First Officer William Riker, a tall Alaskan native, at a computer bank on the second tier. Worf tips the powerful crest on his forehead at the thin Vulcan as a curt acknowledgment. Tevic returns with an emotionless nod. You notice Tevic's pointed ears. While his face lacks emotion, Tevic's raised eyebrows give him a permanent air of skepticism. Tevic is very tall, even for a Vulcan. Worf notes he is clearly a head taller than he and Riker, the two largest bipeds aboard. He had heard of the Vulcan's ferocity in battle. They are formidable opponents indeed; however, as Tevic crosses his path, he can see that the Vulcan is no warrior. Worf imagines at least four ways to neutralize him. He is unimpressed.

Picard turns away from the monitor. "Welcome aboard. I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

Tevic dips a shallow bow, "Thank you for having me, Captain Picard. I am Tevic Siennet, team leader of the research team. And certainly, I am most indebted to the Federation for sending the Enterprise for assistance."

"The pleasure is ours. We've been examining your team's data. This anomaly is fascinating. I'm curious to understand how you even detected it given the circumstances." He shoots a quick glance at Riker. "This is William Riker, my first officer."

Riker, in his close cropped beard, smiles wide and observes, "If you don't mind me asking: you're Tevic Siennet. Are you any relation to Pirus Siennet, the great Vulcan explorer?"

"Commander Riker, I see you have read up on Vulcan history. Indeed, Pirus was my great grandfather. He has the distinction of holding the record for most first contacts." Tevic folds his hands over his stomach, tucking them into the sleeves of his flowing robe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tevic. As the Captain has said, we are captivated by the data stream. How did your team detect such a subtle spatial anomaly? I can't even grasp the process for discovering the twin nebula." Riker turns to the monitor. You see a distribution of dots in two clouds. They swirl around each other in an ancient dance. A label indicates: timelapse sequence +1,000 years.

Tevic responds, "It was not easy. These rare binary nebulas are exceedingly difficult to discover. They require precise detection. In this particular case, the nebula's complete a full rotation every millenia."

The Chief of Engineering, Geordi La Forge, is diligently typing at an adjoining station. "There it goes." He turns to face the big viewing screen. You notice Geordi wears a gold visor. It is a neural interface for his central cortex to allow Lieutenant Commander La Forge to see despite being blind. All eyes shift to the screen with two gaseous nebulae displayed. A flash of light appears between the two clouds. The clouds pulse with veins of lightning for a brief moment. In a single breath, the experience is over. "Data, did you catch that?"

At left helm, Data, an android, acknowledges, "Sensors indicate high levels of tachyon particles and an extreme spike in ultraviolet radiation."

Geordi frowns, "Any idea what caused it?"

Data turns in his chair, fixes his yellow eyes on Geordi, and says, "The origin of the disturbance is unknown."

Tevic interjects, "That is precisely the phenomenon we are here to investigate. Adjust your sensors to the perimeters given by my field team. Run the data again and concentrate on mass variance." Tevic looks from the android to Geordi.

Geordi taps out a sequence on the terminal. His eyebrows knit in confusion. "That's… strange. The nebulas lost mass during the storm. It's just… gone." He turns to address the crew.

Captain Picard says to Tevic, "Do you have any working theories?"

"We believe there's a wormhole nestled between the two systems that is siphoning off matter."

Data cocks his head ever-so slightly, "Fascinating. That is a possible explanation. The disturbance could have been a by product of an electrostatic discharge generated when the flow of hydrogen particles accelerated through to the other side."

Tevic nearly smiles. "That is correct, android. And how would you recommend we proceed?"

"Captain," his yellow eyes shift without blinking from Tevic to Picard. "I believe a class four probe with a modified sensor array should have the capability and durability to observe this theoretical phenomenon."

Picard nods, "Make it so."


	3. Chapter 3

Wesley and Anna walk side-by-side through a corridor. You can hear the soft hum of the Enterprise as they navigate the winding hall lined with overhead lights, waist-high obsidian computer panels and a blue-grey carpeting. Every now and then they pass under a bulkhead. To Wesley, the omniscient sound of the engines is like a steady snowfall. It coats his psyche like a familiar blanket on a cold winter day. His eyes travel to Anna. She is alert, peering around at all the newness. She says, "Thanks for taking me around. I know you must be eager to see your friends."

Wesley shrugs, "It's no problem. The Enterprise is the best place in Starfleet. I'd love to take you on a tour. I know this ship better than my dorm room."

She smiles. "That would be nice. What's our first stop?"

With a big grin Wesley says, "Ten Forward, of course."

You scan the room as Anna and Wesley step into Ten Forward. It is the social hub of the ship that is situated at the tip of the saucer section. Floor to ceiling windows display a sweeping view of space. Today, Ten Forward is blurry with activity. You notice pockets of people in various states of laughing, drinking, or shouting. There is aggressive elbow bumping around the bar as a group of off duty ensigns talk excitedly about the Vulcans and the spatial anomaly. Wesley motions toward the illuminated bar. Anna picks a quiet section tended by what appears to be a petit African woman, wearing a deep orange hat topped with a flat circle that slopes elegantly over her back. She polishes a glass.

Wesley nods to the bartender, "Hey Guinan."

Guinan, the El-Aurian alien, smiles wide. "Well, look what the spatial anomaly dragged in: Wesley Crusher." Her voice is soft and yet a bit rough around the edges. If Guinan was a human, she would have a mild New York accent. "Hello," she says to Anna, placing two smoky-colored glasses at their forearms. "Here, try this. I just got it in." She uncorks a stressed porcelain bottle and tips in a dark blue metallic liquid.

Anna and Wesley exchange a furtive glance and sip the drink. It goes down smooth followed by a pleasant warmth that ripples through their bodies. Wesley feels the tension in his stomach ease. He leans against the bar. Anna's gaze softens. Her eyes. Anna's irises are almost black, so there's no discernible pupil, but the striations in the iris give it an iridescent quality. They are like the finest black opals in the galaxy. She smiles at Wesley's admiring gaze. He laughs. Guinan asks, "So what do you think? It's a Vulcan drink; meant to calm the nerves."

Anna wipes a finger over her full lips, "It's sweet. Kinda like grape juice, but not."

Guinan eyes the bottle and shrugs, "Seems only fitting with the Vulcans running around the ship."

Wesley says to Guinan, "It's good to see you."

Always a quick study, she notices a sadness in Wesley. Maybe it's the slump of his shoulders or the way he holds the glass, but Guinan can see a weariness in young Wesley Crusher. "What brings you home, Wes?" She tops off his glass.

"I'm working with Anna on her senior thesis. Oh, uh, Guinan this Anna. Anna, this is Guinan: the wisest person on the ship. She's an El-Aurian, which means she's lived for generations-"

"Pleased to meet you, Anna." Guinan smiles and offers her hand. "You know what I do on this ship? I serve the good stuff and I listen. Always listening, so tell me about your thesis."

Anna takes another sip. "This Vulcan drink. I could get used to it." She throws back her head for a deep inhale. "My thesis is nothing special, really."

"I disagree," Wesley interjects. "I think it's brilliant. It's an entirely new method for data analysis of spatial anomalies. I mean, the use of the Nash algorithm to extrapolate a poly numeric sequence versus the older method truly revolutionizes the field."

Anna and Guinan chuckle. Guinan says, "Well, that's a bit much for me. I'm so glad to see you again, Wes. If you'll excuse me, I have more Vulcan wine to pass around. You two enjoy." She tops off Anna's cup with a wink.

Anna circles the rim of her glass with a pointer finger. "Do you really think it's all that or are you just trying to butter up a superior?"

Wesley stammers, "I, uh, no, I think it's a great idea. I'm excited to, uh, you know, see it in action."

Anna's opal gaze train on Wes like a Klingon tractor beam. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

He takes a long draw of the Vulcan grape juice. "No… It's just that." He bites his lip. "Anna, this is the first drink I've had with anybody from the academy since Nova Squadron. I'm…" Wesley takes another sip. "It's just nice, is all."

Anna reaches over and tenderly touches Wesley's forearm. He feels the warmth from her fingertips and the heaviness of her hand as it settles. There is an electricity that radiates up his arm. The feeling settles in his groin. "You're a good guy, Wes. I don't blame you for what happened. If there's anything you need to get off your chest, I'm here to listen."

You see a cadet stumbling through lit corridors. Wes' eyes focus ahead, his lips drawn tight, and his cadence sloppy. At the turbolift, Wesley puts a hand on the bulkhead for support. He takes a deep breath. The doors woosh open, and he crosses the threshold having made up his mind. "Computer," he says, "deck 18." He blinks. "Stop." The turbolift obeys. "Computer, deck 22."

Stepping out Wesley can see, in his mind's eye, Anna's dark eyes, her full lips, her olive skin. He can smell the perfume from her hair. Her small laugh is like a silver bell in his memory: beautiful and pure. A fire burns in his groin that warms his stomach. Wesley feels like he's walking through a tunnel in which time has slowed and the edges of perception blur. In his early career as acting ensign, Wesley pilots the Enterprise D, he experiences war, he interacts with beings of incalculable power, but tonight his heart thumps heavy in his chest as he approaches Anna's quarters. Boundaries will be crossed tonight, his ego reminds, and there's no going back.

You see Wesley outside of Anna's quarters, swaying: room 2214. He closes his eyes, takes a quick breath, and chimes his arrival. There is a pause. A sickening pause. Blood rushes to Wesley's cheeks as he waits. The doors slide open with the suddenness of a kabuki drop. Wes blinks to adjust his world to the presence before him. He has the wrong room? No, it's Anna's quarters. A man, an older man with blonde hair swept neatly to the side and dimpled chin leans against the door jam. He puts his hands comfortably in the pockets of his robe. "Can I help ya, sport?"

Wesley swallows, "I was, uh, is Anna around?"

He smiles, "She's indisposed at the moment."

"Who is it?" Anna shouts from the bedroom.

"It can wait until tomorrow." Wesley makes a hasty retreat down the hall.

"Who was it?" He hears Anna say before the doors close. Wesley speed walks to the turbolift, working hard against the growing knot in his stomach. The knot uncoils on the way back to his quarters and transmutes into a pounding headache.

You see Wesley sitting on the edge of his shallow platform bed. He curls forward and rubs his temples. The pain is blinding. He imagines lightning crackling between dark clouds. He contemplates paging the ship's doctor, and perhaps he would have if it she wasn't his mother, Dr. Beverly Crusher. Wes remembers his mother's hug in the shuttle bay after disembarking. She pulls him in so tight he can feel her pulse. The unconditional love Dr. Crusher feels for Wesley has the destructive force on his social life as a photon torpedo. Wes reasons if he pages his mother for a simple pain-killer, she makes a second cabin call tonight. Nobody breaks her little boy's heart! He can handle this. He can make it past the white-hot pain radiating behind his eyes. He can curl into a ball on this bed, close his eyes, and forget Anna's smile, her eyes, her hair, her hips, her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

You are outside the Enterprise D as it floats dangerously close to a nebula that is a spectacle of varying hues. The gaseous clouds soundlessly pulse with a spider's web of electricity. It is a fleeting reminder that the anomaly sits at the heart like a specter trapped between walls.

"Holy Toledo!" Geordi taps along a screen in main engineering. "Data, did you catch that? Seemed a bit stronger than the others."

Data stands at the central control island. He nods, "Confirmed. The bursts appear to be occurring with greater frequency." Computer banks surround Data and Geordi in the anteroom to the warp engine. The familiar hum of the ship is more of a soft heartbeat as the warp coils pulse in the background. Data looks up in thoughtful contemplation and asks, "Geordi, what is a Holy Toledo?"

Geordi adjusts his visor. "I don't know. I heard it in a movie the other night. It was a mid-20th century story about a detective. It's an expression of surprise, I believe. Kinda catchy."

Data cocks his head to the side. "I have found sixty-three-thousand, five-hundred, seventeen references to 'Holy Toledo' in mid-20th century culture. I believe your supposition is correct."

Geordi shakes his head. "Thanks." He catches Wes as he shuffles in carrying a heavy shoulder bag. "Hey Wes!" Geordi and Data converge on their old friend. Geordi's eyebrows criss-cross in concern. "Rough night at Ten Forward?" Geordi pats Wes' shoulder.

Wes smiles weakly. "Yeah, you could say that." Data removes the bag with ease. "It's so good to see you guys." There is relief in his voice.

"Geordi and I have increased propulsion engagement between the computer and warp engine by point-three percent. Would you like to see how that was accomplished?" Data looks between Wesley and Geordi for body language acknowledgement.

"I would love to Data, but I should get set up first. Is Anna here?"

"Wesley are you well? You appear to be in minor distress." Data scans Wes from toe to head with the glare of his yellow eyes.

"I'm fine. I had this bad headache that kept me awake. It's gone now."

Geordi motions Wesley to a corner of the room. "I've set you up at Barkley's station."

They walk over to a nook with an exposed panel. ISO Linear chips sit in neat racks, glowing blue with activity. They are like memory cards slotted into a motherboard. "Barkley won't mind?" Wes inspects the panel. He takes the case from Data, sets it on the floor, and pops it open. Imbedded in the case is an advanced computer and glossy touchscreen.

"Nah," Geordi says as he inspects Wes' computer. "He's on leave at Risa or something."

Data, confused, says, "I believe Lieutenant Barclay is still aboard. Records show-"

"He's on the holodeck. I get it Data." Wes and Geordi chuckle.

Geordi motions at the computer. "This is quite a computer you've got."

"It's built around quantum acceleration. Anna and I designed it specifically for data calibration of complex spatial anomalies." Wesley's fingers dance around the screen. It comes to life. He reaches into the panel for a wire and jacks it into the computer.

Data leans in for a closer look. "Fascinating."

"What am I missing?" Anna chimes in. She looks smart in her red and black uniform. Her luscious mound of hair is pinned up to accentuate the clean lines of her slender, bare neck. She smiles.

"I was, uh, just checking out your processor, er, your design work, that is." Geordi moves aside so Anna can float in for a closer inspection of Wes' work. Geordi rubs the back of his neck.

"Might I say," Data interjects, "I have reviewed your submitted thesis on data analysis. Anna, your insights into collection and processing is quite innovative."

"You're such a charmer," Anna chuckles. Data looks at Geordi for a response and then nods an affirmative at Anna. "How we doin', Wes?"

Wesley stands after completing a keystroke. He's a head taller than Anna. "It's all patched into the main system; ready to go. I thought we agreed on an 0800 start?"

"It's eight-oh-seven." Anna crosses her arms. Wes cannot help but notice as her breasts pillow under her forearms.

"You're late." He turns to type along the engineering console with some force.

"Excuse me for the seven minutes." Anna kneels at the quantum computer to examine it. She huffs, "you've patched it wrong." She shakes her head, tapping vigorously at the panel.

Without turning, Wes responds, "uh, I don't think so. Look closely at the sympty protocol sequence. It clearly indicates a Hastel equation for compliance. This isn't my first time around a quantum accelerator."

Geordi begins to back away. He motions Data do the same. He says, "Uh, we'll let you two get to work."

Data adds, "If Wesley is correct about the sympty protocol, the patch for the quantum-" Geordi pats Data on the shoulder, shaking his head not-to-bother.

Geordi exits with, "let us know if you need anything."

"There," Anna says with a final stab at the computer. "I fixed your mistake."

"What?" Wesley circles about the computer to inspect Anna's work.

"Yes, Hastel works, but it's not as efficient as a Cantor variance, duh." She stands ramrod at the engineering computer directly next to Wes. He slams his hands down on the station. "What's your problem?" Anna turns with a hand on her curvaceous hip.

Wesley shakes his head. "Nothing." He continues working at his station. "You're right." He bites his lip. "It is a better choice."

Anna says, "Good. Let's get this thing online so we can catch the next data stream from the anomaly."

The piping to the quantum computer glows with activity. Numerical streams run across the screen at a frightening speed. Anna and Wes continue typing at their stations. Their eyes narrow as they focus on a dizzying amount of graphs that fluctuate in real time. Behind the two, engineers work quietly either at a station or passing through with tablets in hand. The throb of the warp engine is a comforting sound to Wesley like whalesong or a native drum beat.

"Interesting," Wesley says just audible above the ambient heartbeat of the Enterprise.

"Please, Mr. Crusher, feel free to expound." Anna's eyes remain on her quadrants of interest on screen.

Wesley explains, "The Vulcans were correct. The mass in the nebulas is certainly reduced; however, their sensors are so precise they are picking up minute fluctuations in tachyon activity."

Anna's brow curls in contemplation. She moves over to Wesley's station. He holds his ground as Anna leans in to view his graphs. Wesley can smell the perfume of her hair as she breathes, "Show me."

Wesley taps at a graph, enhancing the axis for a closer look at an otherwise straight line. With the x- and y-axis adjustments, variance spikes appear on the line graph as it snakes in real time across the screen. "This is a remarkable find; the Vulcan's will be interested in this metric, I'm certain."

Anna squints at the data stream. "This is significant. We need to send this to the Vulcan team leader right away." She smiles up at Wes. It is a look of radiance and glee that warms Wes' heart.

He taps out a sequence. "Aye, aye captain." He returns a weak smile.

Anna pegs him in the arm. "Good job, cadet." She returns to her station.

Wes retorts, "It's your design, really. There isn't a sensor on this ship that could have caught that." He returns to typing at his station. Gradually, his motions slow to a stop. Staring at the screen, Wes can see his reflection in the cold glass of the engineering panel. He blinks hard, takes a deep breath and turns to face her. "Anna, I…" He swallows.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Crusher?" Anna's question is bouncy and playful.

"I visited you last night. It was me." Considering the golf ball sized lump in his throat, he is surprised that statement comes out coherent. Nausea sets in.

Anna freezes. Her dark eyes slide over to Wesley. She laughs. It comes up from her stomach and bubbles out of her mouth. Wesley looks around at a mercifully slow department. Anna's laughter erupts like a fountain. It bounces around the small room and into the main warp engine. She grips her stomach.

Wesley's face turns red. "What's so funny?"

Anna, between laughs, says, "I'm sorry, sorry…"

"Just forget it." He says a bit forcefully.

"Sorry," Anna gasps. She wipes a tear. "Sorry…" She takes a deep breath to slow the rolling waves. "Oh my God- Whew!"

Wesley shakes his head. His lips form a tight line. A notification pings at his station. The redness drains from his cheeks. His face is hard with concentration. He clears his throat with renewed focus. "Hey," he peers down at Anna, "the Vulcans replied. They want us on the bridge for the probe launch."

"Fantastic," Anna's smile fades. She turns to Wesley. Her tone is serious as she says, "I know why you visited me. I want you to know that I'm an independent woman. I'm not some prize to be won. I choose whomever I wish to see. I know what you're thinking about me. Don't. I choose."

Wes stammers, "I… I… okay."


	5. Chapter 5

You float along the hull of the saucer section of the Enterprise D. It takes you a minute to get your bearings before you realize you are on the underside. You drift past the ship's designation. Written in massive black characters it reads "NCC-1701-D." You know this from memory. As you travel along the hull, you can only discern the "NCC." The rest is obscured by your small size and the natural curvature of the saucer. In your periphery, the anomaly sends another shockwave of electrical energy pulsing through the nebular. You look into a crew quarter to see Geordi looking out. He shakes his head.

Bathed in the soft yellow light, Geordi adjusts his visor and says, "Man, there it goes again. My visor is picking up unusual electromagnetic activity."

Data is standing over a table, arranging several brown glass bottles. He looks at Geordi and states, "Yes, the anomaly has pulsed seventeen times in the last two hours and thirty-seven seconds. The electromagnetic interference is most likely the ionization of helium particulates in the nebula." He picks up a bottle. "Geordi, would you like a cold one?"

Geordi walks over to the table to accept the bottle. He rolls it around in his hand.

Data clarifies, "It is a beer. By cold one, I am referencing the fact that I am offering you a single bottle that has been chilled to approximately four-point-four degrees celsius."

Geordi chuckles. "Thanks, Data. Is this the real deal?"

Data looks down at the now five bottles of beer. "It is not synthesized if that is what you are referring."

"Wow, must be a special occasion." Geordi takes a swig. "Whew! That's got a nice kick to it."

Data nods. "You are welcome. I procured them-" The door chimes. "Enter."

"Hey guys," Wesley offers a small smile. His eyes are darkly rimmed and his shoulders slump just enough to betray his usual perfect posture. Data peers down at the neatly arranged beer bottles, selects the one closest to Wesley, and offers it to him as he slumps into a chair. The bottle is pleasantly cool and heavy. Wes turns it around before taking a gulp. "Data, this is real beer."

"That is correct. I was explaining to Geordi that I received six units from an exporter at our last outpost." Spot the cat, a black and white tabby, weaves between the bottles nearly knocking them over. Data scoops him up. Spot purrs at the attention, rubbing his head on Data. "No Spot. You have consumed the required amount of calories for the day." He places Spot aside and continues, "The exporter's name was Samuel Adams. He was from Earth. A place called Boston. I have been saving it for a special occasion." He and Geordi join Wes at the table.

"Thanks. I don't know how special this is, but I appreciate the sentiment." Wes takes a deep drink. Geordi follows suit. He lets out a guttural burp that fascinates Data. Wes chuckles. "Nice one."

"So what's going on Wes?" Geordi wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform.

"Excuse me," Data interjects, grabbing a beer, and raising it. "I believe it is customary for the host to toast the guest of honor in this circumstance."

"Oh right," Geordi raises his glass. Wesley does as well.

Data raises and says, "To our friend Wesley. May he have much success in his Starfleet career."

"Here, here," Geordi says with gusto. The three clink beers and drink. Geordi slams his down and grabs a second one. "That's good stuff."

Data to Geordi, "You were saying."

"Yeah, so what's going on, Wes? You don't seem..." Geordi takes a quick drink.

"Are you not finding success in the project? I am available to review it anytime after my shift." Data places the beer neatly with the others. Wesley shrugs.

Geordi points at Data. "I bet it's that quantum computer. Those units can be a bear."

Wesley shakes his head. "It's Anna. She's… she's difficult to work with."

Geordi leans in. "How so?"

Wes rubs the back of his neck. "The thing is I kinda got the impression she liked me. You know, we really connected on the shuttle ride. She's a super nice person, and she was really honest with me. We shared a lot, but, I don't know, maybe I got the wrong idea."

Geordi nods. Data's face is pensive. He begins to offer a suggestion, but thinks again. Geordi leans on the table and rubs his chin. He touches his visor and says, "She is a beautiful woman. Maybe you just need to be more bold. You know, go for it."

Data's eyes dart quickly from the table to Wes, "There is evidence to support the successful mating habits of alpha males. For instance, a long term study of Klingon canines showed that more aggressive males procreated at nearly double the rate of beta males."

Wes chugs the beer and motions for a second. Data, closest to the beer, skillfully slides one across the table to Wes' waiting hand. "Anyway, it's real good to see you guys. It's been lonely at the academy."

Data frowns in thought and then adds, "the most recent demographics of Starfleet academy do show a 51 to 49 ratio of female to male, so the odds are certainly in your favor."

Wesley nods. "I can't stop thinking about her. She's like infected my mind, my dreams. I close my eyes and all I see is her. What does that mean?"

Geordi pats Wes on the shoulder. "You know what? Just get through this assignment. Focus on the work, and if it's too much you can talk to us."

Data adds, "I do believe that Counselor Troi is better equipped to handle these types of issues. After all, she does specialize in human behavior."

"Data," Geordi shakes his head vigorously, "Wes needs his buddies not a counselor." He points a wavering hand at Wes. "Don't worry, man, we got your back."

The door chimes. Data looks at Geordi and Wes. "I am not expecting anyone else." His attention turns to the door. "Enter."

Anna stands in the doorway in standard issue Starfleet red with her arms crossed. She is holding herself as if caught in a chilly gust. Wes notices Anna's full, strawberry-red lips. Her brow creases in comprehending the scene before her. "Wesley," she breaths.

Data rises. "Can I help you?"

She looks past Data and continues, "I thought you were going to take me out. Show me around this ship that you love so much. I was looking forward to it."

Wesley thinks a moment, crosses the room and asks, "How did you locate me?"

"Excuse me, but I'm your direct report. I'm privy to your whereabouts. It's standard procedure." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I intruded."

Wesley bites his lip, "Anna…"

"No, truly I am. I didn't mean to be a disturbance." She nods at Geordi and Data. "Gentlemen, I apologize for the intrusion. Wesley speaks very fondly of you."

Quickly Wes says, "Anna, we did not discuss any plans for tonight."

She nods. "Have a goodnight, Wes."

The door closes abruptly with a finality that takes over the room. Wes closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Data references Geordi for a response. He says, "I do not believe it is standard procedure for a cadet to access the whereabouts of any crew member."

Geordi shrugs, "Maybe this is different. Sometimes it changes depending on the circumstance." He sips from his beer. He says to Wes, "I see what ya mean."

"Guys," Wes says. "Let's just forget it and play some cards."

"Here, here," Geordi responds, slamming down his empty bottle. "But first stop the room from spinning."

Data quickly scans the room. "We appear to be stationary. Perhaps your visor is malfunctioning."

Wes laughs, "Yeah, Geordi, it's your visor!"


	6. Chapter 6

As you step off the turbolift and onto the bridge of the Enterprise D, you can feel an electricity like you automatically connect to a livewire that cables through the two-tiered room as soon as your foot crosses the threshold. All paths lead to one individual who sits at a chair, which bristles with controls just behind helm on the lower tier. Captain Picard leans in for close counsel from Commander William T. Riker, his second in command. On Picard's left sits the sapient and statuesque Counselor Deanna Troi, a half-Betazoid with the telepathic ability to read emotions. She turns in her chair to raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Wes and Anna who struggle on the second-tier at an engineering panel to set up their quantum computer. Sensing the raw emotions between the two young cadets, Deanna's full lips curl into a smile and she gives Captain Picard a subtle acknowledgement. Picard cracks the glass of his usual staid expression with a slight smile.

The nebula, a dark rimmed cloud, sits silently on the big display. Picard eyes the image before he says, "Mr. Worf, hail the Vulcan research team."

"Hailing frequencies open, captain," Worf says in his deep, gravelly voice.

"Tevic, is your team ready to receive telemetry from the modified probe?"

Tevic responds in his clear, monotone voice, "our instruments are calibrated and open to receive."

"Acknowledged. Picard out." Picard straightens his uniform. "Mr. Worf, is the probe ready to launch?"

Worf, standing at attention, nods, "Ay Captain, the class three probe is ready."

"Launch on my mark."

"Pardon, Captain," Wesley is kneeling at the engineering station with the panel removed and a nest of cables spilling onto the floor. "Could we have a moment to connect our data collector?"

Captain Picard sets his jaw. "You have five minutes, Mr. Crusher."

"Thank you sir." Wesley's hands work quickly as he sorts through the cabling. Anna's hunched over the quantum computer, frantically typing.

Anna whispers, "why the hell didn't you preconfigure the patch?"

Wes shakes his head, "I found the interface. Hand me the cable link."

Anna slides open a compartment, rifling through the connectors. She picks one out and hands it down to Wes.

"What? No, this is the LDN adapter. Don't you know the difference between the LDN and the isolinear extension?" He hands it back shaking his head.

Anna finds another adaptor for Wes. "Well, maybe if you organized the kit as I had asked, we wouldn't have to search every single time." She hisses.

"Hey, this is your computer. You should know what's what." He connects the extension. The cable lights up a soft blue down the length. Anna threads it into the computer.

Anna clicks out a sequence on the screen. It blinks a blank command line. "The patch isn't adhering." She taps out the sequence again; same result. "You don't have the right connection." She kneels down.

Wes rises to the computer. He huffs, "No, you're not using the right algorithm, I bet. Just like in the beta trials."

Picard peers at Counselor Troi and shakes his head. Troi cannot help but smile. She leans over to whisper, "Opposites attract." Picard's face tenses in even further irritation.

Picard growls, "Mr. Crusher, if you please."

"Almost there, Captain." Wes shakes his head, miffed. He says to Anna, "I don't understand. This should be the same patch we used in engineering. Nothing's changed."

Anna's brow is severe as she traces cables from the engineering panel to the computer. "Well clearly, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Her voice is like a silent whip that lashes into Wesley.

He slams his hands on the keypad of the quantum computer. "What did you say?" He bends over Anna and says, "You are rude and intractable. I hope your dissertation is rejected!" Anna drops the cable nest and stands abruptly, drawing side glances from the crew.

An alert chimes on Data's console at the left helm position. "Captain, I'm detecting an unusual disturbance emanating from the nebula."

"On screen." Picard straightens in his chair.

Wes' attention swivels to the screen as Anna's eyes swell with tears. She says, "You dare!" Her lips tremble. "How dare you."

Commander William T. Riker eyes the nebulous formation on screen and asks, "What are the Vulcans reading?"

Anna's lower lip trembles. She says to Wesley, "Look at me."

Worf chimes in, "Tevic has registered it as a foreign object about the size of a _battle cruiser._ "

Picard cuts in, "I'm not taking any chances. Shields up. Yellow alert."

Anna, tears streaming down her cheeks, says to Wesley, "Look at me." Wes is distracted by the swelling nebulous on screen. Anna's jaw sets and she screams a message into Wes' brain that repeats in a feedback loop, 'lookatmelovemehateme, lookatmehatemeloveme, lookatmelovemehateme, lookatmehatemeloveme'. Wesley cries out and crumples to the floor with his hands over his ears. He begins to paw helplessly at the floor.

Counselor Troi gasps. Her face twists in agony. She leans forward in her chair and cradles her head as the psychic distortion crashes into her mind like a menacing ocean wave. Startled, Picard grips Deanna's arm. Riker scrambles to his feet. He bellows, "Mr. Data, status of the object."

Picard twists to see Wesley convulsing on the second tier as he holds Deanna from tumbling out of her chair. "Picard to sickbay. We have two unknown injuries-"

Deanna unfolds her body and yells, "Anna, stop it!"

Tears roll down Anna's blister red cheeks as a steady stream of consciousness enfolds and crushes Wesley's mind. Her concentration is broken as Troi sends a thunderous message that is otherwise silent. 'Let go'!

Anna blinks, stunned at the force. She takes in a tremulous breath and looks down at Deanna's stern gaze. Their minds are connected now.

Troi continues, 'Listen to me: slow your mind. Anna, release him.' Wesley rolls onto his back with an exhale.

Anna's cheeks are flushed red from the encounter. In a small voice she says, "I'm- I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

Picard, realizing Deanna has recovered, states in a concise voice, "Counselor, get those two off my bridge."

You observe Anna on her knees, eyes closed. Her hands cover her mouth and she is frozen in time like a stone angel. Counselor Troi sits on the edge of a chaise lounge with her legs and arms crossed. You describe the mood written on her face as calm and resigned. Troi takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Her soft lips part as she exhales. 'Anna', Troi telegraphs via her mind, 'can you hear me'? Anna's eyes shoot open, and regard Troi with suspicion tinged with anger. 'I can feel that you can, but you block me. Please trust me'.

"Counselor," Anna shields her eyes now, "please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Her breath is rapid. "I'm sorry," she whispers. 'I'M SORRY'! Anna's message nearly knocks Troi to the ground. She grimaces at the force of the psychic impact.

'It's ok. Let me help'.

Anna clasps her now sweaty palms over her ears and rocks back and forth on her haunches. She shakes her head vigorously to indicate never.

"Anna," Counselor Troi clears her throat. "Slow down." She lowers to the floor. "Follow my voice: close your eyes, take a deep breath." Anna slows rocking. She folds her shaking hands in her lap. "Good. Now exhale. Again, deep breath in, and out it goes." Anna slowly adjusts her seat into a cross-legged position. 'You're doing great. Take a breath', Troi instructs through a psychic connection, 'And let it go nice and easy. Very good'.

Sitting opposite one another, the two women share a quiet moment shroud in silence. 'It happened once before when I was younger', Anna confesses. She breath quivers as she pulls in a deep breath. 'It scares me'.

Deanna Troi's face is impassive. She relaxes her shoulders as a mental bound begins to sprout. 'Are you part Betazoid'?

'I was raised an orphan'.

'Your mental powers are special. My people often communicate like this. I believe you are one of us'.

'I have trouble controlling it'.

'I can help, but why did you attack Wesley'?

'He tried to hurt me'.

'I did not feel it that way. In fact, I would say the opposite is true'.

'He got too close. I can hear _him_ '.

'Anna, Betazoids can form attachments to others. We call them Imzadi. I believe this is the case between you and Wesley'.

'NO'!

'Tell me the first time you experienced your telepathic abilities'.

'I will show you'.

"Show me?" Deanna Troi's eyes dart open, but it is to late. She is drawn into Anna's past: her psyche is ripped from the present, swirling down a drain as Anna's mind-vortex melts away the walls. Troi's final thought: not Betazoid.

The room is filled with shadows that move around a little dark-haired girl sitting on a stool. Her feet are crossed in red Mary-Jane shoes. "I'm not fibbing, Sister. I can hear him." She taps her head.

The Sister responds. You cannot see her, but the Sister of Mercy's presence is written in shadows. She speaks but it sounds backwards.

Little Anna leans in to whisper, "He can hear me back. I think he knows."

A response like, "Seciov raeh scitereh ylno."

"Please," little Anna's eyes grow wider, pleading, "Please, no!"

The Sister says, "dog fo nam a si eh. Diarfa eb ton od."

Tears stream down Anna's chubby cheeks. The background blinks to pitch black. Little Anna looks down at her red shoes. Her breath is ragged and shallow. Little droplets speckle her Mary Janes. Each point stains them blood red. The light on Anna intensifies into a shaft of divine sanctity. It deepens the shadows under her eyes.

"Anna," the Priest's voice is deep and smooth like fine scotch, "do you fear God?"

"No, just monsters." She looks into the light with watery eyes.

The Priest chuckles. "There are no monsters if you accept the love of our Lord. Tell you what. There is a way for you to become closer to God. There's a special Holy Sacrament that I only give to the ones that really, really need it."

Little Anna looks back at her shoes that dangle from the stool just inches above the ground. A hand gently tips her chin up and back to the angelic light. "I-I know you are bad."

"Will you open yourself up to the special sacrament? I promise you'll love it, and it will absolve you of your wickedness. Would you like that?"

'You are the one that is wicked, Father'.

"Did you-Did you say something?"

'Now it's time you STOP'.

The Priest gasps.

Little Anna's eyebrows lower in anger as the light, the divine gold, turns red. 'STOP _YOUR_ WICKEDNESS, FATHER! STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP'!

His scream crescendos from a low tenor to a high pitched wail. Each breath is followed with a deafening screech. Troi is desperate for it to end. Little Anna crushes the Priest's mind like a brittle leaf curled in a child's fist.

Deanna Troi's lips tremble as she cries on the floor of Anna's quarters. Anna holds Deanna's hands. She says, "That's the first time it happened. I just thought it and it came true. It was like a horrible magic."

"I'm so sorry."

"I have feelings for Wesley that scare me."

"He's not that man."

"I know." She let's go of Deanna. "I know."

The lights in Anna's quarters shift immediately to red followed by a WOOP-WOOP alarm. Deanna shakes off the connection with Anna. "We're under attack. Anna, I have to-"

"What can I do?" Her eyes are alert, but raw around the edges. "Where do you need me? I'm trained in engine mechanics and-"

Deanna stands. "I must go to the bridge now. I want you to stay here. You're on the Enterprise. We can handle it." Troi crosses the room at a brisk pace. She turns to Anna before exiting and thinks, ' You're safe here, little one'.

You are outside the Enterprise now. A dark ship emerges from the globulous nebula. It arcs out, seeming to gain ground to a dominant position. The ship trails an electric blue tail as it's angular nose careens toward the Enterprise D. You are on the saucer section watching the details of the ship begin to fill in. From this vantage point, it looks like a day-glo beetle with it's carapace open.

Worf notices the aggression. "Commander, they are moving into an attack position."

Commander Riker bellows, "Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Data!"

"Ay, commander."

Picard stands next to Riker. After a chime on his panel, Worf says, "We are being hailed by the Vulcans."

Picard is tense. "Put them through." To Riker he says, out of earshot of the crew, "Not Romulan."

Riker just shakes his head and responds, "UFO."

Tevic states calmly, "Captain, a tetrion scan of the nebula just before the ship emerged showed high levels of theta band radiation, neutrinos, and ionized hydrogen. This may explain-"

"Thank you, Tevic. Inform the outpost captain to raise shields and go to red alert immediately."

"As you wish, Captain. Tevic out."

The unknown vessel's blue power cells suddenly pulse bright before firing on the Enterprise. The energy burst crackles and spits from the starboard and aft modules. It blazes a gash along the Enterprise's aft, slicing directly into the hall.

The bridge shakes vigorously. Captain Picard and Commander Riker are knocked off their feet. Worf grips his station for support. Wide-eyed he says, "Captain, severe damage to decks twelve to fourteen. Our shields are _useless!_ "

"Return fire!" Picard scrambles into his captain's chair.

Along the underside of the saucer section, two points of yellow trace around an inner ring to join at a precise point on the bow. The phaser beam, a line of pure energy that burns yellow-orange, plows into the dark ship's shields with enough force to devastate a city. The phaser blast is totally dispersed along the surface of the shield.

"No damage," Worf barks.

The enemy vessel circles around the Enterprise, which now swings deftly away. The dark ship charges its energy banks and fires a blue laser that crashes into the Enterprise's stern.

Computer panels explode in a shower of sparks as ensigns tumble to the ground. Emergency lights flicker on as the main power systems cut in and out. "Geordi to bridge," his voice is urgent and stressed.

"Go ahead, Mr. La Forge." Picard scans quickly around the bridge. Several crewmen are unconscious. Riker crawls back into his commander's chair. The shoulder on his uniform is ripped and he is gushing blood from a forehead wound. "Are you okay, Number one?" William nods.

"Captain, we've lost warp engines. There are major system failures throughout. We cannot take another hit!"

"Acknowledged." He grips the sides of his chair. Sweat rolls down his bald head and into the wrinkles above his brow. Picard's eyes narrow. "Mr. Data set a course for the nebula. Maximum speed."

"Ay, Captain."

"Mr. Worf, buy us some time. Fire photon torpedoes: sierra pattern."

"Ay, Captain. On your mark."

The Enterprise D, hobbled and scarred, limps to the edge of the nebula. Tremors rack the entire ship as it putters into the colored gases. Data states, "Sir, we are entering the nebula at full impulse."

"Fire photon torpedoes!" Picard barks.

Five rockets launch as points of light from the stern array just between the warp engine nacelles. They spread out in a circular pattern, falling toward the unknown enemy vessel. Two are a direct hit to their shields, which flickers in response. The dark ship dodges two others, but gets slammed by the final torpedo that tears into their underbelly with a fantastic explosion. It is nearly knocked off its intercept course.

Worf growls. "Direct hit, Captain. It's shields are down, and they have taken damage."

"Confirmed," Data adds. "The enemy; however, is still closing fast."

"Hold course. Let's see if we can slow'em down. Mr. Worf ready another barrage."

"Ay, Captain." Worf types one-handed on his panel to call up additional armaments.

Data peers at the big screen. It is filled with an abstract of colored hues like a Rothko painting come to life. "Captain, I am reading major subspace interference. Recommend full stop."

Picard's jaw tightens. "Negative. I said, hold course. What is the position of the hostile?"

"We have lost them, Captain." Worf grits his teeth in irritation. He is thirsty for combat.

"Is it the disturbance in the nebula?" Commander Riker mops blood away from his eyes.

"That is certainly possible. We have entered the proposed position of the anomaly." Data taps on his controls, deftly moving around the screen at an inhuman pace.

"If we cannot detect them than there's hardly a chance they can see us. Damage report." Picard says.

Worf takes a breath. "Sir, all decks are reporting in. We have a hall breach on deck 13 and engineering; however, containment fields are in place. There are eight casualties and many injured. Warp drive is offline and impulse is limited."

Picard walks around helm to stand in front of the screen to address the bridge crew. He pauses at the sight of a young ensign slumped over his console. Picard's voice is soft as he delivers a plea. "We are facing an unknown enemy. We are outgunned and outmaneuvered. Our backs are against the wall. I need options."

You notice Worf's lip curl. It is an expression rarely seen. It is a Klingon smile. "I just need one more shot with the photon torpedos."

Riker chimes, "That's all well and good, but we can't take another hit."

Data's head tilts in a speculative gesture, "Captain, the enemy's weapon penetrated our shields. I believe there is a way to adjust the frequency to compensate for the resonate output of their blasters."

"La Forge to bridge."

Picard taps his communicator, "Go ahead."

"Captain," Geordi is winded, "we have some major systems hanging by a thread. Lieutenant Barclay was almost sucked out of a hall breach. Sir, it's a miracle we have impulse power."

"Acknowledged. I'm sending Lieutenant Commander Data down to help. We need to remodulate the shields in preparation-"

"Sir, shields are down. Shrapnel from the hall breach has incapacitated the generator. It's gonna take several hours-"

"You have one hour. Picard out." He paces back and forth, stroking his chin. The pulsing red alert lights around the perimeter throb, highlighting the sharp features of Picard's face. You notice a desperate silence fall on the collective consciousness of the crew. He crosses back to his captain's seat, eases into it, and straightens his uniform. To himself he mutters, "I suppose we must ready the harpoon." Riker is in ear-shot, and, through the pain and blood, chuckles. Picard says aloud, "Mr. Worf, ready your one shot."

Mr. Worf responds with gusto, "Ay ay, Captain."

Captain Picard turns around to address Worf. "Best make it count." Worf nods. "Mr. Data, scanners at maximum."

"Ay, Captain."

"Helm. Full stop."

Data looks over at his flanking position at the man slumped over his controls. He concludes that he is deceased. Data responds cooly, "ay ay, Captain. Full stop."

Picard speaks softly:

"Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die."

Captain Picard says, "Mr. Worf, you have discretion to fire at will."

"Ay, Captain."

You feel every moment of silence is weighted with the prospect of death. Tense faces highlighted with the pulsing red lights fanout around the bridge. Riker slumps a bit in his commander's seat. He breathes slowly through a spike of pain. Worf, his large hands ready at targeting, is excited with the anticipation of a kill. He relishes the idea of dying in battle. What an honor to walk the halls of Sto-vo-kor.

Data's prosthetic eyes move quickly over the sensor readouts. He glances at the spectral image of the nebula on screen. A pulse of lightning crawls through the billowy clouds. "Captain, sensors indicate high levels of theta band radiation, neutrinos, and ionized hydrogen."

"Picard to engineering: where are my shields?"

"We're working on it. Things are a mess down here, Captain."

"I don't need excuses, Mr. La Forge. I need results."

"Understood. I'm doing the best I can. La Forge out."

You are in engineering, standing next to Geordi La Forge. Before us is a naked expanse of stellular gases that rise and fall like a vaporous mountain range. Staring at it through the containment field on the engineering deck is a nightmare. Geordi is shrouded in darkness. A chain of lightning threads through the nebula. A glint of light reflects off his gold visor. "Gonna need all the help I can get." He taps his communicator. "La Forge to Wesley Crusher."

"Crusher here."

"Wes, if you're not too busy, I could use your assistance in Engineering."

"All hands on deck?"

"We have multiple system failures, and an unreasonable timeline for repair."

"Ah, just like old times. On my way. Crusher out."

You are far enough away from the Enterprise D that it looks like a bottle ship frozen in a suspension of boldly colored oil and water. You notice scars along the normally pristine hull. If you squint, you can see that the depth of the gashes sink far: there are two exposed decks. Every now and then a crew member walks briskly by the unsettling containment field.

Picard is leaning forward now with his hands gripping his knees. Beads of sweat roll down his brow and onto the already damp collar. "Report, Mr. Data." A splash of lightning on screen blinks the bridge white. Picard squints hard from the burst.

"Captain, I have continued sensor sweeps since your last order. Our range is seriously limited due to severe damage to the array; however, I am picking up increased activity at ground-zero of the anomaly." Data turns in his chair to address Captain Picard.

Riker stammers, "Wh-where are we in relation to it?"

Data nods, "Commander, I believe we are at the event horizon. Tevic noted that the increased activity in the general vicinity correlated with the characteristics of a wormhole. I believe he was correct."

Picard inquires, "Is it possible to know its size or where it might lead?"

"No sir." An alert chimes at Data's panel. He swivels around. "Sir, I'm picking up an electromagnetic signature on short range scanners. It is closing."

"The enemy!" Worf snarls.

"On screen." Picard demands.

"The nebula has obscured visuals; however-" Data's hands move quickly along his console.

"What is it?" Riker is shaking uncontrollably in his chair. Picard eyes him as if to say, report to sick bay. Riker shakes his head.

"I believe the wormhole is opening." Data's yellow eyes transition smoothly from helm control to the screen. A gaping mouth appears in the nebula. It churns the gaseous clouds like a hurricane with a pitch black eye. It is a beautiful disaster that freezes your blood.

Picard begins, "Mr. Data-"

"We are being pulled in. Brace for impact." Data's hands quickly grip the top of helm control.

The communications link on the bridge chimes. "La Forge to bridge. What the fu-"


	7. Chapter 7

You are being stretched now. Or rather, your being is stretched to an unknown length, possibly infinity. Everything around you: objects, lights, colors, smells, loved ones are pulled in a line with no beginning nor an end. They are straight lines running parallel. Sometimes the lines are rigid and smooth; other times they swirl and wave. It all depends. You are not sure how. It just does. You want to touch the tips of your fingers. Either you are paralyzed or time has frozen. You want to panic and scream. In order for that thought to become action, you understand that that purple line would have to merge with that neon-green one. Impossible. They are two separate elements of an unending transition. These thoughts pull off of your consciousness a strand at a time. You are concerned that the yarn of thoughts is undoing your existence like the unspooling of a beautiful sweater. Perhaps if you quiet your mind. Quiet your mind. Quiet. Your. Mind.

You are on your knees in engineering. You remember being on the bridge at the event horizon? Shake your head: all that matters is reality and the wholeness of your being. Wesley and Geordi are braced against a conduit that's charred black and crushed in spots. Wes' face is twisted in a manner that reflects your feelings: what the fuck was that? Wes stammers, "What the hell was that?"

"I…" Geordi taps his visor. "I'm not sure." He takes a breath. "But we need to fix the shield generator." Wesley nods in agreement. He picks up a laser solder to fire into an exposed panel. Geordi replaces a row of isolinear chips with a newer set.

"Bridge to engineering." Captain Picard's irritation is evident through the comm-system.

Geordi taps his comm-badge. "Geordi here."

"Mr. La Forge," there is weight in Picard's response. "I have no impulse power, limited sensors, weapons are disabled, and still no shields."

"We're working on it, Captain." Geordi shakes his head. "We'll have shields momentarily."

"We are deaf, blind and helpless. I demand better results. Picard out."

Geordi hangs his head and takes a deep breath. The muscles along his jawline tighten. "Barclay," Geordi shouts over his shoulder.

Without hesitation, a wide-eyed and nervous man peers around a bulkhead. A laceration along his cheek oozes blood. "Y-yes, Lieutenant Commander?"

Geordi continues manipulating components in the busted panel. "Reggie, any idea what the hell happened?" He pauses to address Lieutenant Reginald Barclay.

"I'm not sure, sir, but I think when we went through without shields it caused-"

"Went through what?" Geordi crosses his arms.

"Sir, we were sucked into a wormhole, according to the bridge log. I think that the stress was too much for the inertial dampeners." He looks over at Wesley and frowns. "The stress on the hull-"

"Was enormous," Wesley adds. "It's a miracle we're in one piece."

"That's what that was." Geordi strokes his chin. "Back to your post, Reg." He points at Wesley. "We need to get these engines back online. You got this?"

"Should be fine." Wesley closes the panel. Geordi exits at a brisk pace.

'I don't understand', says a distant voice.

"Excuse me?" Wesley looks around the room. "Hello?" His brow knits in confusion as he scans the shield generator area. He spots at least six things that need mending. Wes shakes off the prickly sensation that he's being watched.

"I want you to make certain that that is accurate," Picard snaps at Data. The red alert lights continue to pulse.

Riker, now leaning far back in his commander's chair, says in a hushed voice, "If that were true than we are several thousand light years away from Federation space." You notice Riker clutching at the arms of the chair for support. He's trying to remain upright and conscious despite the blood loss.

Data taps away at his console. He raises an eyebrow. "While sensors are limited, the star charts remain intact." He swivels to face Picard. "We are located in the Delta quadrant. At maximum warp, it would take thirty years to reach the nearest Federation outpost."

"Not possible," Riker murmurs.

"Engineering to the Bridge." Wesley's voice is cool and confident.

Picard responds, "Go ahead."

"Captain, the shields are back online."

"Is this Mr. Crusher?"

"Ay, Captain. We need all the help we can get down here."

"Understood. We'll spare all we can. Good work on the shields, Picard out." Picard pats Riker on the shoulder.

Worf's mind is sharp. The battle has not ended as both combatants remain alive. "Captain, recommend we raise shields."

Picard shakes his head. "There's no need to expense any unnecessary energy; however, keep alert."

"Sensors are too limited to defend us against an attack. An enemy could be closing on us as we speak-"

"Noted, Mr. Worf." Picard turns his attention to the back of Data's head. "Mr. Data, are there any indications of the anomaly?"

"Negative; however, the sensors available are inadequate to detect the theta band variances that the original exhibited." He turns in his chair to face Picard. "Captain, shall I report to engineering to assist with the repairs?" You understand that Data is incapable of emotion, but his calmness is eerie given the dire consequences of a starship adrift and defenseless.

Picard rises from his captain's chair. An alert chimes at Worf's tactical station. "Enemy ship detected!"

"Shields up!"

"Ay, shields up."

"Picard to Engineering."

"Go ahead, Captain," replies an exasperated Geordi.

"Geordi, we have an enemy closing. I need my ship back!"

"Ay, Captain. Impulse is almost back online, but I need more time."

"That's not a luxury we can afford. Picard out."

Worf growls. He's noticed Lieutenant Commander Data has resumed his post at helm. 'A warrior cannot die defenseless', he thinks. "Captain, enemy is at thirty-kilometers and closing fast. There are indications of severe hull damage. Recommend we ram them as soon as impulse is back!"

Picard turns to look up at tactical. He notices a desperation in Worf's eyes. A rare indication of anxiety. "Mr. Worf, military history has shown little evidence for the effectiveness of ramming."

"We must do something!"

"They are well within firing range. No, they want something else. Turn on the siren. Prepare to be boarded."

Worf produces a toothy grin. He could not recall the last time he dismembered a man that wasn't a hologram. "Ay, ay, Captain." Worf sends a silent order to a security ensign: 'Permission to enter my quarters. Bring me my Bat'leth'.

Wes is elbows deep in a nest of wiring that disappears down a jefferies tube. His silhouette pulses blue as the warp core beats out a comforting rhythm that eases Wesley's dull headache. He finds the twist lock connection and disconnects one of the thick cables. He taps his communicator, "Wesley to Barclay, it's disconnected."

"Ten-four. Uh," Lieutenant Barclay's voice fades and then clicks away.

"Wes to Barclay. Is everything ok on your end? Is it the wrong cable?"

"No, sorry. I mean, it's the correct cable, but, uh we have orders to arm ourselves." Wesley rubs his temples. "Uh, do you know-did you get trained in combat readiness or phaser-"

"I'm good, Lieutenant. Reporting to an armory immediately. Wes out." He feels pressure behind his eyes. Wes wonders if this is collateral damage from the severed link with Anna. He takes a deep breath in, pinches the space between his eyebrows and exhales. It is a calming technique he learned from a Vulcan at the academy. An image of a frightened Anna huddled under a blanket blinks through this mindful exercise. "She'll be fine," he whispers to no one.

'Don't worry', Anna whispers into Wes' mind. It's soft and breathy.

'You can hear my thoughts', Wes responds.

'I'll be fine', she replies.

Wesley shakes his head vigorously. "Please," he says aloud, "I need to concentrate." The dull ache and tightness in his shoulders eases. Wes is shaken as a wave of love and warmth flows into his being. He is so moved that a tear escapes his right eye.

"Geordi to Wes. I need ya in propulsion immediately." Geordi's tone is frantic, but all Wesley can feel is a calm focus. "Geordi to Wesley Crusher?"

Wes wipes away the tear. "Wes here. I'm just around the corner, Lieutenant Commander."

You are in a jeffries tube observing Geordi manipulate an impossibly complex access panel filled with advanced circuitry. The tube is just wide enough for Geordi to crouch on his hands and knees, pulling wrenches and soldering tools from an angular box. The tube is connected by a vertical access section. He peers down it. "Got anything?" He shakes his head. "Damnit. I thought that may have been it."

Wesley pops his head into the jeffries tube to investigate Geordi's work on the panel. "Looks correct. I wonder if you replace the capacitors along the flow regulator?"

"Might as well give it a try."

Wesley watches Geordi work. He feels fortunate to have him as a friend. Geordi is a great officer, the best engineer in Starfleet, and a good person. "Why are we armed?"

Sparks from Geordi's optical solder pen harmlessly blanket the jeffries tube. "Captain thinks we'll be boarded."

"With our shields up?"

Geordi's gold visor often makes it difficult to discern emotion, but Wes has learned to read Geordi's mouth. Now it is askew in thought. "You're right. At the very least we should feel them blasting it into submission."

"Who are these people?" Wes props his head on his crossed arms. Geordi remembers a younger Wesley Crusher, barely a teenager. Smart, talented, and always curious.

"No one knows." He rummages through the tool box, "but we'll figure it out. Let's get this ship moving, eh?" Wes smiles and nods.

"That should do it. Check it now." Geordi clicks the panel shut. You see his face tense with the weight of several hundred repairs ahead: small and large.

"Looks good." Wes pops back into the jeffries tube. He smiles, patting Geordi on the shoulder. "OK, what's next?"

"Commander, er, Lieutenant, uh, shit! Come in!" Barclay's voice is hushed and strained.

Geordi sighs, "Go ahead, Barlcay. Now what's wrong?"

"We've been boarded. Th-th-they took our center control console."

"Set phasers to stun and shoot, soldier!" Geordi army-crawls to the vertical jeffries tube. He shouts down to Wesley. "We got company. I hope you remember your training, cadet."

"Ay, Lieutenant Commander. Passed with flying colors." Wes, standing under a bulkhead sets his phaser, which is the size and shape of a men's electric razor.

Barclay chimes in. "I- I- I- Hurry, sir!"

"This is your Captain speaking." Picard's voice is weathered. "Repel the enemy at all costs. Set phasers to maximum setting. Do not hesitate. Do not fall back. Picard out."

At the access door leading out to a corridor, Geordi sucks in a deep breath. Wesley watches him intently, poised to open the door. Geordi nods. The door opens to silence; the red alert lights pulsing a sickening hue that colors Wes' profile nuclear red as you watch him check the corridor, left and right. He turns the corner quickly and Geordi follows.

You follow in line behind Geordi and Wes as they carefully snake through the corridor: phasers at the ready. As they approach main engineering, wisps of smoke tinged with the scent of burnt plastic and scorched metal wafts through the corridor. Wes and Geordi hide behind a bulkhead. The sound of phaser fire exchange blisters through the air, mixing with the intelligible shouts and directions of the engineering crew in defense. You get a glimpse of the room when Wes braves a quick survey of the chaos. Barclay and six other engineers are scattered about the anteroom to the warp core, taking cover where they can. Large bipedal aliens teleport in and out of the space at will, firing blasts from the hip at the huddled engineers.

Geordi and Wes swing around the bulkhead, firing at the nearest alien, whose personal force fields absorb the phaser blasts. The alien returns fire, narrowly missing Geordi, leaving a devastating scorch mark on the bulkhead. The alien advances to a computer console. It slaps a device on the front of the unit, activates a wrist communicator, and the unit teleports away.

A startled ensign realizes her cover has dematerialized. She pops up, swings her phaser into action. The intruder moves quickly to disarm her. She screams as the alien grips her face with his powerful hand. She helplessly clutches its forearm, her shrill cries of terror muffled by the scaly fist.

Wesley charges with a gutteral battle cry that rises from his primordial being. His phaser blast is easily deflected by its personal force field.

The alien, standing well over six feet tall, smiles at the feeble attempt. This close you notice it's skin is grey and scaled like a pallid alligator. It's head is rimmed in menacing horns. It is covered from the neck down in advanced military gear. It nearly drops the blaster as it mercilessly obliterates the young engineer's head like a ripe melon; clawing deep into the woman's skull. There is a sickening crunch as blood bursts around his fist.

Wesley advances, blasting into the alien's force field. The ensign's now limp body is half incinerated as electric flames engulf the alien. Wes tosses the phaser away as he gets closer to the malignant entity.

It is amused at Wes' tenacity, drops the ensign's charred torso, and prepares for an easy victory.

'Run', Anna pulses the message into Wes' mind. He shakes it aside. Wes' fists curl into tight balls as he recalls the countless anbo-jyutsu sessions with Riker.

The spiked alien, towering over Wesley, taps a control on his wrist mount. It holsters the blaster with a magnetic click to it's thigh. Before Wes can engage the monstrosity, a phaser beam slashes past Wesley, narrowly missing his head. It disintegrates the alien's arm. Immediately, the alien turns a device on its chest, and it's gone. All of the aliens teleport away.

Wesley peers over his shoulder at Barclay, hand shaking with phaser poised. Wes crosses the anteroom and lowers Barclay's phaser. Barclay begins to weep.

Wes takes stock of the room. The aliens have stolen several computer consoles including the central command island. They probably do not understand that all the equipment is useless. The computer, Wes estimates, has already re-routed command functions to other stations. As the adrenaline drains from his body, he is suddenly queasy. You watch as Wesley crouches to take a breath.

'I can hear their thoughts'. Anna's messages are stronger now. Wes is dizzy with the clarity of her voice ringing in his mind. 'They're searching now. Before they were gathering'. You see Wes breath through the sensations. The connection between he and Anna transmits emotion now. She is upset, Wes understands. 'Yes', Anna replies. 'I wish you were here to hold me'.

Geordi takes two strides over to Wes, who is genuflecting like a shell-shocked Word War II soldier. He might as well have been a G.I. in northern France. "It's not over." Geordi squeezes his shoulder. "We need to stay together, close ranks. Do you understand?" Geordi's voice is firm and calm. Wes nods in acknowledgement.

Geordi taps his communicator. "Engineering to bridge."

"Report." Picard's voice is terse.

"Captain, we've just repelled an attack. They teleported out several computer stations. Nothing of consequence. Requesting a security detail-"

"You say, they've taken Federation equipment?"

"Yes sir. I count six computer stations gone."

"Understood. Resume repairs."

"Sir, we need security-"

"Geordi, there's fighting on multiple decks. I recommend you work in shifts."

"But sir-"

"Get photon torpedoes back online. Picard out."

Geordi shakes his head. "Well, you heard the Captain. Barclay and Harris take first watch. Wes and the rest of you are with me."

Barclay's eyes are wide and pleading, "but-but-but…"

Geordi pat's Barclay on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Reg." He looks down at the mutilated corpse. "Just remember what they did to O'Connell."

You see Wes shake off his distant gaze. He stands, adjusts his uniform, and follows Geordi and crew.

They enter the warp core. He watches Geordi give direction to the exhausted engineers. He points to several jeffries tubes, speaking quickly. Wes feels detached like a fly-on-the-wall: Geordi's lips move, but Wes is outside of the moment. He comprehends Geordi's orders without hearing anything. Geordi looks at Wes pointedly. Wesley realizes the rest of the crew has dispersed. He shrugs, "Let's get to work."

A stabbing pain slashes into his cortex, touching deep. The sensation strangles his limbic system. Wesley gasps.

Geordi grabs his arm as he sways from the force of Anna's call. 'They're looking for me. They-they're getting closer'.

"Whoa, what happened?" Geordi asks.

Anna's voice is a torrent: 'They are surging on my deck. They're coming. They're coming. They're coming'. Waves of fear rollover Wes, eroding his consciousness like grains of sand on a stormy shore.

"What's going on?" Geordi shouts.

Wesley pulls away from Geordi after catching a break. "I'm coming," he whispers.

'It's not safe'.

"I know."

'It's too late'.

"Never."

"Hey," Geordi barks, "who the hell are you talking too?"

"I can't explain it- I'm talking to Anna. I'm sorry." He sprints out of engineering, heart thumping like an out of control piston. She calls. He can feel her like a warm body under the covers. He can smell her soft hair like a field of mint warming in the sun. He catches glimpses of her eyes like dark stars, guiding him through the Enterprise D.

Wesley Crusher quickly maps out a route through the jeffries tubes that drop him behind the battle lines, right at her quarters. He takes the turbolift a deck above Anna's and methodically makes his way. Wes uses the engineering schematics he committed to memory when he was thirteen. The maze of tubes and ladders are a blur.

Wesley drops into a hall that pulses red along the running boards. To you, this deck is indistinguishable from any other. Your attention is drawn to the approaching sound of a struggle. Wes' eyes are wide with focus. Sweat dots his brow as a he turns away from the noise. He thinks hard at Anna. 'I'm outside'. He passes door after door before one opens.

Anna is nowhere to be seen. "Wesley?" Her voice is small and defenseless. Wes swallows back a knot of fear, and finds Anna in bed. She is curled under a blanket. She is sweating profusely rolled in the fetal position with the silvery sheet pulled up and under her chin. Wesley slowly reaches out and touches Anna's brown, curly locks that flow like beautiful vines over the pillow. They are soft and cool to the touch. Her hair, Wes decides, is perfectly spun silk, the finest in the galaxy. You notice a tear dribble onto the pillow as she leans into his touch, closing her eyes at the sensation. "I'm sorry."

There are thumps in the distance. It could be a raucous party except for the muffled Klingon battle cry. "Don't be." Wes unholsters his phaser and watches through the threshold into the sitting room. His phaser is set to incinerate; seems more symbolic.

"They know I'm different," Anna continues. "They're looking for me and…" She takes in a shaky breath. "They've been tracking you."

Wes taps his communicator. "Wesley Crusher to Security."

"Go ahead." Worf growls back.

"Requesting security in Senior Cadet Anna Smith's quarters."

"Kinda busy right now. We'll be there as soon as we-" Worf's surprise is punctuated with six invaders that teleport directly into the main room of Anna's quarters.

"Worf, they're here."

"On my way."

In a rare instance, Worf materializes in Anna's bedroom as a site-to-site transport. Lucky guess, Wes thinks. Worf's uniform is shredded to the waist. Deep cuts criss-cross his hulking figure. He looks at Wes and Anna with teeth gnashed. He turns toward the alien's, bat'leth at the ready. The razor sharp tips, all four on the slashing weapon, drips red with blood.

The intruders are Worf's equal in size, but lack his rage that pumps adrenaline throughout his heaving form. He charges. The bat'leth is a blur as he works it between the six aliens. One-on-one, these invaders would not stand a chance, but the six are too much for the Klingon. What appears to be the leader of the group, dispatches Worf of his weapon and works his body with lightning quick jabs to the midsection. Two other aliens jump on Worf, curling him to the ground.

Wes kneels to hold Anna in his arms. He folds around her trembling body like the petals of a flower protecting the stigma. The invaders cross into the bedroom. Their forms are dark shadows that melt away from the walls and floor, moving closer. Every now and then ambient light reflects off their silvery, beady eyes. It makes you feel cold. Shivers roll down your spine as three of the aliens close on the lovers locked in a pose like a Grecian statue titled, 'Young Lovers, One Dying'.

The largest alien, the one that bested Worf, picks up Wes' phaser, which had dropped to the floor next to the bed. It inspects the device. Satisfied, it puts the tip of the phaser against Wes' temple. The invader's scaly lips sneer as its grip tightens on the hilt. "Ch'akkdah almaharib alsaghir." Its voice is low and smooth, rolling the 'r'.

Anna's eyes flutter open. 'No'. The invaders blink in recognition. 'This must stop'. The leader lowers the phaser. 'Leave us'. It throws its head back and roars. You and Wesley are startled at the gutteral sound erupting from the beast. Emotion is impossible to discern. Wes loosens his grip when he notices Anna's steely gaze. The leader raises the phaser, pointing it straight at Wesley's head.

Anna inhales and closes her eyes. A ringing sound crescendos between Wes' ears. It grows relentlessly into a mind-splitting siren that shakes his bones. He drops to the bed, burrowing into the covers. In the cacophonous fury, Wes glimpses the aliens similarly disabled. They fall to the ground like wounded animals in a webbed trap. It takes effort for Wes to retain any semblance of consciousness. There are periods of blackness, interspersed with images: writhing alien invaders and Anna standing on her bed. The pain is white hot; unlike any sensation. It is like… certain death.

Anna's voice chimes clear through the caterwauling emotions that ring the sides of Wes' skull. Her lips do not move. 'LeaveNowLeaveNowLeaveNowLeaveLeaveLeaveLeave'. He can feel his id and ego collapsing under the strain. You see Wesley's eyes are open wide with concentric circles of terror. Sweat pours down his scalp as he begs for release, relief, release, relief, release, relief.

One by one you watch as the intruders teleport away. You look through Anna's porthole. The dark angular alien ship looms just outside. It is there and now it is not. In a flash of brilliance, the alien ship stretches into warp from a standstill.

Anna drops to her knees in the mess of the silvery throw on the bed. A thin drop of blood runs from her left nostril just touching her lips. Anna's eyes, those dark pearls, roll back into her head. She falls onto the bed as mental exhaustion floods her overworked mind. Anna shuts down.

The mental miasma clears Wesley's mind. He blinks hard. It takes him a moment to focus. The room is a blur of shapes. Quickly, the shapes become objects. As his mind relaxes, the objects gain meaning: chair, table, window, space. Wesley's mind throbs with the dull ache of a concussion. He is nauseous. Wes raises to an elbow in a half sitting position. His back is turned toward Anna. It takes Wesley a few breaths to appreciate that he is alive. His psyche is sore, but he feels intact after Anna's assault. He twists to see Anna unconscious on top of the covers. He strokes away a tear from her cheek. Wesley Crusher leans in and kisses her damp forehead. He presses his head against hers. Wes has been holding it back for so long, and now it comes in a torrent. He sobs. There is no reasoning or logic. It is pure release. Wes holds Anna's face in his hands, and he weeps. "Please come back." His voice flutters a bit. "Please come back. Don't go." Wes' plea is soft like a desperate man in confession.


	8. Chapter 8

Captain Benjamin Sisko, a svelte African in a neatly pressed Starfleet uniform, gazes across Deep Space Nine station at a battered Enterprise D that is now docked. He shakes his head, and turns to Captain Picard. Rarely flustered, Picard is ever-so-slightly slack in his chair. He drinks quietly from a glass of water. Benjamin's office is an impressive Cardassian-esque motif.

Sisko says, "It's a miracle you were discovered at all."

"Indeed." Picard places the glass carefully on Sisko's lacquered desk.

"Is there nothing you can tell us about your aggressors? We have encountered malevolent forces on the other side, but this is different; active militaristic aggression." Sisko assumes a seat behind the expansive desk just opposite Picard.

"I wish I could. Our sensor logs are nonexistent. The attack and rough ride through the wormhole completely disabled the Enterprise. What I can say is that this opponent is formidable."

"You're lucky Commander Kira happened by for a tow." Benjamin steeples his fingers. His hair is close-cropped and he is clean shaven.

"I don't know what would have happened." Picard's response is utter exasperation. "Benjamin, our weapons were useless. They could beam through our shields. These invaders were merciless." Picard shakes his head. He peers into the distance as the horrors of the past 24 hours sink in. "And now they have Federation technology."

"You mentioned that a single cadet may have saved the ship?"

"Leanna Smith. She has some latent psychic ability. For some reason, it disrupted the enemy so much that they left." He shrugs.

"Interesting."

"What has Dr. Bashir reported?"

"She's in a state of catharsis. Deep catharsis. Physically she's fit, so all indications point toward recovery. Her brain activity…" Benjamin's eyes search for an explanation that is not on the desk. "It is, to be blunt, anomalous and concerning."

"Has he sequenced her DNA?"

"She is half human and part betazoid." Benjamin leans in. "Leanna Smith's records indicate she was raised in an orphanage on Ganymede. There are no records beyond that point." Sisko draws an invisible circle on his desk. "Captain, part of Anna's DNA is not on file."

Captain Picard leans back in his chair, crosses his legs, and says, "How could that be?" His gaze turns toward the window of Captain Sisko's office. He looks out over the gentle slopes of Deep Space Nine and into the field of stars. They twinkle as infinite points of light.

Senior cadet Anna Smith is moved to a recovery ward, tucked away in the bowls of Deep Space Nine. The station, a Cardassian construction, orbits Bajor. It was used as an outpost during the occupation. There are resources here that dwarf most Federation bases like the recovery ward that compliments a comprehensive sickbay. Anna is alone in this dark room among a row of beds. Small windows hang a stunning view of Bajor along a wall.

Wesley Crusher lays a hand on the recovery cuff unit (RCU) that covers Anna's torso up to her naked collar bones; her delicate and perfect collar bones. The machine hums under his touch, but it is cold and whisper quiet. Even unconscious, her natural beauty glows with life and symmetry. You watch as Wes closes his eyes. He takes two quick breaths to clear his mind. He reaches out, but he cannot sense her. Ever since their connection was severed, Wes feels adrift like a ship without mooring.

"Dr. Bashir has indicated a strong probability that she will make a full recovery." Data's voice is appropriately soft. "Although the nature of her injury remains unknown."

Wes turns to find Data standing within arms-reach of him, crisp and pristine. Geordi emerges from a heavy shadow. His lips in a tight line. "How is she?" Geordi asks.

Wesley taps through a menu on the RCU. "Her vitals are stable." He wants Anna's eyes to flutter open. Now would be the perfect time for a miraculous awakening. She sleeps on, locked in a psychic cage. "She's perfectly healthy. Dr. Bashir and Counselor Troi told me that we had a special connection, but I can't feel her like before."

"I have reviewed their analysis on request from the Captain," Data continues. "I have cross-referenced her DNA with every known species in the galaxy without a match."

"Is it true she's part Betazoid?" Geordi scratches his chin.

"Yeah, also part human." Wes turns away from Anna. "Counselor Troi thinks that the unknown part of her amplified her psychic ability somehow. I don't know."

"Hmm," Geordi's gold visor tips toward Anna. "Maybe all of that exertion caused an overload. Like a stressed warp coil. And, you know, she needs to shut down to cool off."

Data nods, "that is possible. There are multiple references to increased brain activity that leads to catatonia; however, it is usually accompanied with some form of trauma."

Wesley's eyes drop to the floor. "Guys, thanks, I—"

"Wes, she'll wake up. It'll just take some time." Geordi steps closer to Wesley. "Tell ya what. I could use some serious help back on the ship. I have a maintenance list a mile long."

Data's face twists in mild confusion. "Geordi, an item list utilizing standard Federation font a mile long would constitute over 64,000 entries. I have reviewed the damage report and it does not appear that serious. I suggest you prioritize and condense your tasks to a more manageable length."

Geordi throws his hands in the air. "Data, it's an expression."

A weak smile gradually turns to a light chuckle. Wes says, "That sounds nice."


End file.
